


Out Of The Blue

by taormina



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Evil Cats, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, nervous!Bond, stuck in a shed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to ask a guy out when you’re allergic to his cats.</p><p>(Now updated with a second chapter featuring more cats! And some kissing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At the end of the day, this was just an ordinary mission. He was going to deliver the package to Q’s door, leave, and hope that the package wouldn’t disappear underneath a blanket of snow. Q would do that thing he always did on his laptop and Bond would go back home and try not to think about it. Tomorrow, he’d find out more. Tonight, he was just the messenger.

Ten minutes into the mission, it was all going exactly like how Bond had planned it. He had no trouble finding Q’s house in the dark, snow-covered streets of London, and he’d been on less terrifying assignments in arctic countries so often that the snow no longer even crunched under his feet. He stuck to the shadows and climbed over Q’s garden fence undetected. He was going to deliver the little box in the pocket of his coat without being spotted.

That is, he was until he passed one of Q’s cats on the porch and he had a sneezing fit.

He’d sneezed about six times until a light went on inside the house and Bond felt a pang as if he’d missed a step going down a staircase.

The snow being all powder, it wasn’t slippery. Bond tried to make a run for it undetected, but Q was already in the process of opening the door. When he finally did, Bond felt another twinge in his body that had nothing to do with how unwilling he was to get caught.

Q was in his pyjamas. His hair was messy, like he’d just gotten out of bed. (He probably had.) There was a badly hidden taser gun in the hand behind his back. He looked tense and scared until he recognized the shape of Bond’s coat in the half-dark.

He looked beautiful.

‘007?’ Q said, relaxing. He put the gun back where he found it, in a little cabinet behind the door. He crossed his arms and pulled the plaid blanket he was wearing over his shoulders a little tighter. A yawn escaped his mouth. ‘It’s three in the bloody morning.’

Bond discreetly turned up the collar of his coat as if he had not just been planning to jump into the bushes. He tried to face Q nonchalantly, but just as he was about to state his intentions he had a sneezing fit again that lasted for well over a minute. It woke the neighbours up.

‘I left a _– achoo –_ package on your doorstep,’ Bond said in between sneezes. ‘I need you to _– achoo –_ analyse it.’

Q went to pick up the package and turned it over in his hand. It was the size and shape of a small single watch box, and it had tiny flecks of snow on it. Q brushed the snow off with his thumb. ‘I see.’ He glanced at Bond in the dark, half-looking over the top edge of his glasses like he always did when he was feeling sarcastic or judgmental. ‘Was it too much trouble to wait until sunrise and knock on the door like an ordinary human being?’

Bond started sneezing again. His sneezes being very loud for those of a spy, Q trailed off and waited until he could speak again. When Q finally did, there was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘You’re allergic for my cats,’ he deduced, squinting. ‘Is that why you didn’t want to come in here?’

Bond gently nudged one of Q’s cats away with his foot. The cat being white, it looked like a moving bundle of snow that was waving a large, fluffy flag around. ‘I didn’t want to wake you up,’ he lied.

Q hesitated. He looked at the box in his hands, then at Bond – just briefly – and made up his mind about something. ‘Do you want to come in? It’s ever so cold.’

Bond waved a hand in the air. He didn’t want to come in. That wasn’t a part of the deal. He didn’t even want to _think_ about what Q was going to do or feel once he opened the box and found his – James’s – message inside.

He was used to getting what he wanted, sexually. Intimately. Often, all it took was one look.

People were often like that. Impressionable. Wrapped around Bond’s finger because that’s what he was best at.

But with Q, it was a different story. Q was completely oblivious to his advances, intentionally or no — and Bond _liked_ it. He got off on it. It posed a challenge that would normally not even be something Bond had to consider, and he was more than willing to play the game if Q was. He liked that about Q: that nervous, geeky front that perhaps was an alias for someone far more adventurous; fear of flying that was a front for the fear of reaching new highs — new highs that, perhaps, he and Bond could reach together if only the right buttons were pressed.

That was what today was. Pressing the right buttons. Taking that first step.

But it wasn’t supposed to happen _tonight._

‘I’m fine,’ was Bond’s answer.

But Q wasn’t having any of it. ‘Please, 007, I insist. Or were you seriously intent on just leaving like you always do? Not having a normal conversation about this,’ – Not knowing what the box was, he struggled to come up with a word that described it – ‘this _thing_ like two adults who actually communicate with each other?’

‘I am needed elsewhere. And I’m sure you’ll figure out what the box is on your own.’ Bond turned to leave, but Q stopped him in his tracks with another argument:

‘M will be very cross with you if you catch a cold.’

‘I won’t.’

‘I could make tea?’ Q offered finally, as if it might do a better job at persuading Bond than empty threats would.

It did, in the end. (But it had more to do with how good Q looked in those pyjamas, and how utterly desperate he sounded.)

‘Fine,’ Bond said eventually, eyeing one of Q’s cats warily, ‘but don’t let those cats anywhere near me.’

‘They’re just cats; they’re not going to kill you, 007.’

*

‘I didn’t realise you were allergic for cats,’ Q said after he’d let Bond in and made tea. Bond had stubbornly refused to take off his coat by way of saying that he’d be leaving again soon, and had not taken a seat like Q told him to. He looked utterly out of place in Q’s apartment, all snow-covered and cold in a room painted with warm hues of red. The fireplace crackled pleasantly. It made the night smell even more of winter than before.

It was Bond’s first time there. Q did offer, once. They were working on a mission together that involved hacking into surveillance cameras of other intelligence agencies, and Q was going down with a cold so he couldn’t come into work and if Bond could please come and visit to get the work done? Three minutes later Bond sent him a reply saying that he didn’t do ‘house-visits’, and Q had to finish the job on his own. Q never invited him down anymore.

Q sat down on his red leather sofa and put two cups of tea next to the mysterious package in the middle of the glass table in front of him. The tea smelled of cinnamon. His cats had cleverly decided to stay away from Bond and hide in the kitchen. For now.

‘So what’s in here?’ Q asked, nodding at the box.

Bond was showing Q’s book collection a suspicious amount of attention. ‘A message.’

‘From whom?’

‘I like what you’ve done to the place,’ Bond said, turning to the rest of the living room. It was homely and cosy, whatever that meant. He pointed at the little wooden desk where Q always did his work. His laptop was filled with more stickers than when he saw it last. ‘Did you take that stapler from M’s office?’

‘You’re hiding something, aren’t you?’ Q said. He breathed in so deeply that Bond saw his chest move underneath his pyjama top. ‘And it’s to do with whatever is inside this box.’

Bond shrugged. He put his left hand inside his coat pocket and turned to another bookcase as if he didn’t want to talk about it. He picked up a book about technology and pretended to be very interested in what was written on the back. ‘It’s just a message. I don’t know much about it. That’s why I gave it to you, so you might find out.’

‘Indeed. In fact, why not find out now?’ Q said, his words frosty, and he stubbornly picked the box back up and opened it.

The impassive look on Bond’s face was incongruent with how hard his heart was beating. He could still leave, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

Inside the box was a small, folded-up piece of paper. By the time Q finished reading it, he had turned red. He took a small sip of tea to calm down — and downed the whole cup upon realising that just one sip didn’t do a good enough job at suppressing whatever he was feeling.

‘Is it to do with the national security?’ Bond said, feigning ignorance when Q’s eyes met his. He was still holding the book.

Silence, then, very slowly, ‘Sit down, 007.’

Bond snapped the book shut, put it back on the shelf, and retreated towards the door. ‘I really must be off, I —’

‘ _Sit down_ ,’ Q repeated. The challenge in his gaze was unmistakable.  

Q saw Bond take a breath to argue, and then accept that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted tonight. Reluctantly, he did as he was told and sat down. They sat about an arm’s length away, Bond’s hands still inside his pockets like he could jump up and leave any minute. They hadn’t talked for well over a minute until Q sighed and demonstratively showed him the piece of paper that he’d found inside the box.

‘This is your handwriting,’ Q pointed out.

Bond glanced at it. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘It is. I’ve _seen_ your handwriting.’

‘Someone could have faked it.’

Q scratched his head. He looked as though he was having trouble deciding how to word his next sentence. ‘It says, _Will you go out with me?_ In your handwriting,’ he reiterated tiredly when Bond wasn’t looking at him.

‘Good. You’ll finally have an admirer,’ Bond said. Sarcasm was dripping off of him. He wasn’t a very good liar when not faced with matters of life and death.

‘It’s signed _J_.’

Bond laughed nervously. ‘Could be anyone.’

‘I don’t know how to say this, Bond, but I don’t know many people whose first names start with J that might feel entitled to leave secret packages on my doorstep in the middle of the night,’ Q said purposefully. ‘Only one, actually,’ he added, putting the emphasis on ‘one’ as though he was giving Bond a cue to speak, a hidden sign that he _knew_. Q knew.

When Bond remained silent, Q took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, Bond thought he looked equally pleased and excited. The look was gone when he put his glasses back on. Q went on, ‘Whomever it’s from, I hope he or she realises that I am awful at decrypting messages that don’t belong on a computer. I think I’d like my secret admirer to be a bit more straightforward than that.’

Bond raised his eyebrows at that. ‘Did I not — I mean, did your admirer not leave a web address?’

Q looked at the box again. It was empty but for the piece of paper. ‘It appears not, 007.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Bond must’ve forgotten to write the address on the paper. He had devised an online treasure hunt for Q to take part in and find out where the date was taking place. It had taken him quite a lot of time. (He didn’t usually go in for the romantic approach, that wasn’t his thing — but it was with Q. If he had to make that little bit of extra effort, why not do it in style?) ‘I . . . was told the web address would leave you to the location of your blind date.’

‘I see.’ Q blinked. For a moment, he looked at Bond as though he was struggling to decide something. He bit his lip, stared at nothing in particular, and the decision was made. Just like that. ‘I don’t suppose you could just . . . tell me, 007? The date could take place here if it has to be rescheduled,’ Q offered.

Q closed the box and put it back on the table. When he slumped back into the sofa, he was sitting as though he was waiting for something to happen but didn’t have the courage to do something about it himself. The look in his eyes spoke volumes.

He wanted this as much as Bond did.

There was tension, suddenly. Tension that Q always felt during missions, that terrifying, addictive feeling of being both in and out of control and having everything depend on one decision, one moment.

That moment was here, and Bond knew Q felt it too by the way he pushed up his glasses and licked his lips.

Bond found himself taking off his scarf. Then, unbuttoning his coat. They were both feeling tension – sudden, electrifying tension –, and all that was needed to take it forward was a single glance. ‘Would today work for you, Q?’ 

Q leaned forward a little. His lips were deliciously moist. His pyjama top has risen up his chest a little, revealing just a hint of pink flesh. ‘Tonight? Yes, I should think so.’

‘Isn’t it way past your bedtime, Q?’

Q’s cheeks had flushed red. ‘Shut up, 007.’

The final button was popped open. The coat fell open, revealing a pristine white shirt. Bond felt Q’s hands brush the fabric and slip down his back — he caught Q looking at him with a mix of arousal and wonder; all it took was two inches, then one — eyes fluttering closed —

‘ _Achoo!_ ’ Q’s black cat had jumped onto Bond’s lap before they could close that final gap and kiss, and Bond shooed the evil creature off of him with some undignified hand-flapping. By the time the cat had hissed at the both of them and hasted itself underneath the sofa, the pleasant tension had disappeared.

The cat had purposefully pushed Bond’s little box off the table. Q went to pick it up, but Bond was faster, so their hands brushed.

Bond hesitated, then gave the box back to Q. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a place we can go? Where there aren’t any cats?’ he added when he spotted Q’s cat glaring at him.

If Q was nervous, he was doing a very good job at hiding it. ‘Upstairs. My bedroom, specifically,’ he added. He pronounced ‘bedroom’ as if it was a word he would rather not be saying. ‘The cats aren’t allowed there. They tend to make a mess.’

‘Good.’ Bond smiled at Q properly for the first time that night. ‘Then we’ll go upstairs. Unless your secret admirer minds?’

Q shook his head. His gaze lingered on Bond’s lips far longer than it should. ‘I don’t think he will.’


	2. Chapter 2

Q’s master bedroom was exactly like how Bond had imagined it. Its walls painted a warm grey, the room was modern yet welcoming, with just a touch of tech added in the shape of a large screen disguised as a fake 19th-century painting. On Q’s bedside table there stood an empty cup of tea, next to a picture of two people Bond didn’t know. Family, presumably.

For some reason, Bond found the space breathtaking, and what was even better was that he and Q were in the middle of it, slowly undressing.

‘I wish you’d stop wearing shirts with so many buttons, 007,’ Q said, his arousal oh so obvious in the tone of his voice. He’d thus far managed to unpop three buttons with unsteady hands, and had four tantalizing buttons still to go. Four more buttons until the shirt would slip off Bond’s broad shoulders and land in a mess on the floor.

That’s what Q had been looking forward to most, to see Bond in front of him, half-naked. Vulnerable. Beautiful. He wondered if Bond had many scars, and if so, how long it would take to kiss them all.

Bond’s hands were on his sides, the fabric of his pyjama top clenched in his fists as though fighting the temptation to rip it off of him; for now, seeing the look on Q’s face as he treasured each newly exposed piece of skin was enough to keep him waiting. He’d get Q naked later, on that bed of his.

Only two buttons were left. Q moved his hands lower still, where Bond’s stomach was. It tickled.

Q stopped when they both heard a loud _crack!_

‘Oh no . . .’

Immediately distracted, Q ran out of his bedroom and hastened down the stairs, leaving Bond with his shirt half-open. When Q reached the foot of the staircase, he found the broken shards of what was once a very valuable vase in front of a cabinet. It had been his grandmother’s, and very, very expensive indeed.

‘What happened, Q?’ Bond asked from the top of the chairs. He was still buttoning up his shirt as he came down, and it wasn’t until he reached the final step that he noticed the shards on the floor. Then it clicked. ‘Did one of your cats do this?’

‘Yes. I think so,’ Q said distractedly. He was looking around him wildly. ‘Tiddles? Where are you, Tiddles? Let me have a look at you and see if you’re all right.’

Ignoring the porcelain mess on the floor, he started into the living room. The fireplace was still crackling softly, its warmth unlike what Q had just felt with Bond. With Bond, he suddenly felt hot and sweaty and everything he didn’t think he’d ever be able to experience with him. He was missing it already.

‘Tiddles,’ he called, ‘where are you?’

Bond followed him, and his mind immediately went into mission-mode. ‘I’ll see if she’s in the kitchen,’ he said, and started towards the kitchen.

‘No, 007, don’t —’

But like a true man unused to cats, Bond had already blundered into the kitchen and given Tiddles the Cat a big fright.

Terrified, Tiddles leapt out of a cabinet and landed in front of Bond’s feet — it sent a mug falling over and crashing to the floor — Bond tried to catch her, but off she went with a thickened tail —

He followed her like he was in pursuit of a killer or suspect, only to send her running out of the front door that was ajar!

‘Tiddles, get back here!’ Q cried, and he hurriedly put on his shoes and went out after her into the snow with Bond following closely behind.

Bond spotted her in seconds. ‘There!’ he said, pointing at a cat-shaped trail in the ankle-deep snow. It led to the shed.

Noiselessly they followed it – Q less so; water had already run into his shoes so he was _squelching_ with every step — and they jumped into the shed so Tiddles wouldn’t have a chance of escaping and closed the door and accidentally locked themselves in!

Realising what they’d done, Q desperately tried to push open the door. It wouldn’t budge.

‘Great!’ Q exclaimed, with an exasperated gesture at the jammed door, ‘We’re stuck! In a _shed_! In the middle of _bloody_ winter!’ he added by way of making his vexation yet more obvious. He looked at his own attire as though he had only just noticed what he was wearing. ‘And I’m in my pyjamas.’

It was very cold indeed in the shed.

Realising the awkwardness of the situation, Bond was doing an excellent job at avoiding Q’s eye by showing a strange, sudden interest in the objects in Q’s shed. There wasn’t much there apart from some old blueprints and spare computer parts; a wireless mouse or two, circuit boards, monitors, broken radios — things that might have been of value to Q, but would not help them escape.

‘At least we’ve found your . . . cat,’ Bond said, fighting the urge to add an expletive to describe the cat as he nodded  at a dusty white ball with scared yellow eyes that were looking back at him from behind a small file cabinet. She looked unharmed.

Bond rubbed his nose to stop a sneeze from happening.

‘Good. Now we just need to get out of here before we both catch pneumonia,’ Q said with a sarcastic tilt of his head that told Bond Q was very annoyed about their current predicament. 

Bond squinted. ‘Are you blaming _me_ now? It’s your own fault for letting the front door open.’

‘If you didn’t chase after poor Tiddles like a bloody baboon we wouldn’t _be_ here,’ Q said with an angry gesture that encompassed the entire shed.

‘I’m —’ Bond sighed in surrender. He didn’t want to argue, not after how close they’d been to kissing. ‘ _Fine_ ,’ he hissed. ‘I’m . . . sorry for scaring your cat.’

‘Thank you.’ Q was silent, then, ‘So what do you suggest?’  

‘We could try to break the windows,’ Bond offered, running his fingers past the window panes. When he turned to Q, the cat leapt from behind the cabinet and hid underneath a desk as if still afraid.

Q frowned at this preposterous suggestion. ‘And let my equipment be ruined by snow? I’m already spending enough money on repairing items that you broke, thank you.’ – Bond cast the equipment another searching glance, not quite understanding what made them so special – ‘I’m afraid this shed is bulletproof, anyway. And . . . soundproof,’ Q added, almost embarrassedly.

Bond looked impressed. ‘You built a bulletproof shed?’

‘It was actually meant for 009.’

‘Ah. _009_ ,’ Bond said with a sneer. ‘My _loving_ colleague.’

‘Still,’ Q said quickly, keen to avoid making 009 their next conversational topic (Bond disliked 009 very much because he once took Q to a restaurant; the food was below average and 009 quite frankly the dullest spy Q had ever had the privilege to meet — but Bond didn’t know that), ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to send out a message. It’s an old-fashioned idea, I know,’ he added with that same sarcastic undertone that did various things to Bond’s sanity.

‘But I left my phone on your sofa.’

‘It’s a good thing _I’m_ here, then.’

Q took something from a shelf and dusted it off with his fingers. When Bond moved to see what it was, he recognised a now-ancient mobile phone that the old Q-Branch used to hand out to every single field agent like it was Christmas. They weren’t very good.

‘You should recognize these from your youth, 007,’ Q said cheekily. (It made Bond want to do unspeakable things to him.) He pushed the slightly jammed buttons to slowly spell something out, and a screechy _beep_ marked the sending of a text.

Q put the phone back where he found it. ‘I’ve sent out a distress signal. An agent should be here within twenty minutes. Or . . . forty depending on how good this phone’s signal is. One never knows with these things.’

‘What did the message say?’

‘That I’m stuck in a shed with 007.’

‘That sounds bad.’

‘Indeed,’ Q said unconvincingly. He wished Bond would kiss him and melt away the cold.

He wasn’t sure if he could tell him upfront, teeth clattering and hands shaking. His confidence from a couple of minutes ago, in the warm comforts of his home, seemed so far away now that he was starting to feel colder with each passing second.

As if feeling his cold, the evil cat reappeared from underneath the desk to nudge her head against Q’s soaking shoes. Her head felt soft and reassuring against his legs.

But it wasn’t a reassuring sight for Bond, and another sneeze prickled his nose. He was too slow to cover his mouth, and his sneezes made him sound like a hyena with an allergy.

‘Are you sure you’re not just going down with a cold?’ Q asked when Bond had finished.

‘Doubt it,’ Bond said, sniffing. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ he added when he noticed that Q was absently rubbing his naked arms. (Q’s pyjama top was one with short sleeves; he could never find long-sleeved pyjamas that didn’t make him look like he had borrowed a much larger man’s clothes.)

‘It’s not exactly toasty in here,’ Q pointed out, followed by a full-body shiver. ‘If only we had something that could warm us up; it _will_ take MI6 at least twenty minutes to get here, judging by how slowthey usually are,’ he added with that same glance that had made Bond take off his coat in Q’s living room. He hoped Bond would catch it.

(He did.)

Bond: ‘I know something that might help pass the time.’

Q swallowed. ‘Do you?’ He sounded nervous.

‘I do,’ Bond said softly, and he closed the gap between them and placed his cold hands gently on Q’s naked arms. ‘After all, we never did finish what we started.’

Bond’s cold fingers trailed yet more goosebumps down Q’s arms until he reached his cold hands and clasped them in his. They were ice cold, yet soft.

Q exhaled, and his breath turned into droplet smoke. It was hard to tell whether his nose was red because of the temperature or because of how beautifully excited he was. ‘I’m afraid my admirer was otherwise preoccupied,’ he said. Again, there was that lingering look at Bond’s lips that made the cold feel far away.

There was something very inviting about those lips.

Bond returned the look by moving his right hand back up Q’s arm — he felt the hair on Q’s arm stand straight as he did so — he skipped his clad shoulders — and paused at the skin just above Q’s collar, so naked. So _tempting_.

‘That’s unfortunate,’ Bond said, voice thick with arousal and other things unsuitable for a night spent locked in a shed, and just as he was about to pull Q closer and kiss him, Q’s cat jumped on the desk and made them both start.

The moment was gone again, instantly.

‘I don’t think your cat likes me very much,’ Bond said with a surrendering sigh as he gave the cat a very deliberate glare. For a moment, she appeared to be sticking out her tongue at Bond, but she was only licking her lips after having eaten something she shouldn’t, like a bug or piece of old food.

Q ignored Bond’s comment and went and picked the cat up. His heart was _thundering_ in his chest.

‘No, she doesn’t.’ Q held up the cat’s right paw and moved it in a very forced wave. ‘You like 007, don’t you, Tiddles? Yes, you do,’ he said in a voice that people usually used for babies. In his regular voice, ‘She’s just not used to having visitors around. You can pet her if you want to. I doubt you’re actually allergic.’

Bond held out a tentative hand, but it was followed by another sneeze. Offended, Tiddles wagged her tail unhappily and struggled in Q’s arms. Once Q had put her back on the dirty floor, she disappeared into a dark corner where she spent some time hissing at Bond by way of showing how much she disliked him. (Maybe she was just jealous, Q thought.)

‘I guess if we start seeing each other we might want to consider meeting up at your place,’ Q said ponderingly. ‘Unless it involves you waking me up in the middle of the night again to secretly give me your secret coordinates. Like I said previously, I think I’d like us to be a bit more straightforward than that.’

Bond thought about it. Apparently thinking involved spending a lot of time staring into Q’s eyes. ‘Straightforward, you say?’

‘Yes.’  

There was that tension again, as clear as the night sky.

Outside, it had stopped snowing. Snow absorbed every sound, and it was as if the white trees devoid of leaves were trying to listen in.

‘You mean telling each other our _feelings_? What we want?’ Bond asked, licking his lips deliberately slowly so that Q may see it.

Bond watched Q’s chest move as he breathed in and out quickly. ‘Indeed,’ Q said.

‘You know what _I_ want?’ said Bond with sudden determination, gently shepherding Q with his hands until he was pressed against the desk, ‘I want you. _Here_. Not anywhere else.’

They were close now. Inches removed from each other’s bodies.

_Finally_ , for Bond had had more than enough of waiting.

He’d done years of waiting for the right moment, the right time.

This was it, right here.

Bond watched the line of Q’s throat as he swallowed. He was nervous, beautifully so.

‘And why would that be?’ Q asked. His fast breathing created short bursts of cold smoke against Bond’s lips.

They were so close that it would only take one inch to close the gap between them. One inch until they were finally one, as they should be.

Bond moved his lips to Q’s ear. His breath felt cold and tingly against Q’s skin as he spoke. Q thought he could smell Bond’s cologne.

Q smelled of cinnamon tea and, very soon, of Bond.

Bond smiled against Q’s neck. ‘Soundproof walls.’

‘ _Shit_.’ Q gasped, then moaned when Bond kissed his neck. His hands were on Q’s hips now, holding his body in place against the desk.

His lips felt so cold yet so warm.

Tiddles had stopped hissing.

‘Just so you know, 007,’ Q said in between waves of pleasure – Bond was nibbling his ear now – ‘if you were planning to lift me onto this desk, please consider that that there’s £10,000 worth of equipment on there.’

‘Duly noted.’

It was a good thing Q was suddenly feeling so hot, for Bond then decided to lift his shirt over his head and kiss him all over.

Bond didn’t even notice Q’s cat walking in between their legs as they undressed.

*

They both called in sick the next morning.

 


End file.
